But if I did feel free–foolishly free–to fly the flannel, to wear the wool, sheer the sasquatch–might a Kilt Lifter bluster my bloomers?
Pours murky red, with a respectable head that impresses Victorian silhouettes on your glass. Roasted malt and toasted caramel on the nose. Right up front you get the impression that this is an aggressive beer. That attitude follows through. Sweet on the tongue–very sweet. Then a violent charcoal-bitterness scrapes across the roof of your mouth. Soda-pop carbonation keeps it in perspective. What a bite. Whisky finish.
All that, and 8% ABV?
Yeah, if that don’t blow your skirts up, nothing will.